Heart Of The Mountain
by Phoenix Lam
Summary: Nimuwyn is a half-elf from the realm of Dale. Tragedy separates her from her best friend, a certain Dwarf Princeling by the name of Thorin Oakenshield. Time and trials bring their paths together once again, just in time to retake their home from the Dragon Smaug. The dragon, however, is the least of their worries as sparks begin to fly within the company itself. FilixOFCxThorin
1. Prologue--The Last Days

The sun barely reached the forest floor; the air was thick with the scent of morning mist and rotting leaves. The leather of my boots made little noise as I crept forward, moving as my father had taught me: like a shadow, swift and ever changing. From beneath the hood of my tunic, my eyes caught a disturbance in the carpet of leaves and moss. Tracks, bits of fur, and finally a skeleton appeared—a grim reminder of the reality of hunter versus prey. I continued forward until I was surrounded by undergrowth that scratched at my skin, looking for any I had forgotten to cover and leaving angry red markings. A rustle in the trees made my hair stand on end. I could feel that I was being watched, and knew in my heart that I should not stray into the Greenwood alone, but I came for prey, and did not desire to return home empty handed. I nocked an arrow to my bow; my eyes fixed on the young buck not twenty paces ahead, chewing contentedly on some leaves. Still, even with the prey in sight, something was wrong. My ears perked back, and my heart beat fast as a shadow descended over the trees. I flattened myself against the nearest trunk, not daring to breathe as a massive spider, at least three times the size of the fully grown buck, crept out of the shadows and prepared to strike. It launched the attack without a second thought, taking down the animal with a quick bite from its dripping mandibles. A twig snapped beneath my feet, and the spider gave a sharp hiss. I could hear its legs thump against the ground as it came over toward the tree where I hid, moving like a dog tracking scent. I looked back toward the plains, and the gates of Dale. Just as I was about to sprint into the sunlight, there was a loud whistle of arrows flying through the air. I turned, and saw the arachnid screeching in the throes of death, three projectiles protruding from its back. The arrows were white feathered, filigreed with gold—Thranduil's Archers, if my mother's tales were correct. I looked around for any sign of the Elf who had fired, but I was met only with the silence of the forest. I bowed my head in thanks, and ran back across the plains as fast as my legs would carry me, not stopping until I had reached the gates.

My mother, a Greenwood Elf named Anduline, gave me a stern look as I walked in the door. Her silver eyes were cold, the serious line of her mouth had a look of distaste as she eyed my bloodied and travel-stained clothing.

"If this is how hunting brings you back," She said, her voice an eerie calm. "Then perhaps you should abstain from it, Nimuwyn."

"Oh, mother," I said, waving her disapproval away with my hand. "You worry too much. Father never brought this reaction from you, and he was more a Ranger than I."

"Your father is dead, Nimuwyn," She said, the sudden loudness of her voice startling me into a chair by the fireplace. "So shall you be if you persist in such carelessness. The world is changing, and the Greenwood is not as safe as it once was."

"Do you harbor so much distrust in your own people?" I fired back, removing my boots and throwing them at my feet.

"You would do well to remember that I chose your father over my kin. It is a decision I do not plan on regretting, even in the face of your continuing foolishness."

Her footsteps carried her up the stairs, and I was left in the silence of argument that stung at my heart. The fire crackled loudly, and I found my thoughts wandering. Urvain had been my father's name. He had a head of curly brown hair and was always quick to smile; he melted the ice around my mother's heart, as I could never seem to do. I remember he took me often to the plains around Dale, teaching me to track and hunt from a young age. He taught me skill with a bow, but I favored the Elven Long-Knives that my mother had brought here from Greenwood. When I was fifteen, father was killed on a patrol by a band of Orc raiders. The knives had been passed to me, as had the weight of his loss. Mother had reformed her shield of ice, and the laughter that had once echoed with songs all through the house had ceased entirely. I wiped away a tear as it rolled down my cheek, just in time to hear a light tapping on the window in the eastern wall.

I put my boots back on and went to the door, opening it to an empty street. Secured to the doorframe was a slip of parchment, the writing on it a script I knew well.

"The overlook, one hour."

I smiled and pulled the door closed behind me. The overlook was exactly that, a flat landing of stone that acted as a bridge between the city of Dale and the Dwarvish realm of Erebor, beneath the Lonely Mountain. Torches lined the way, always burning to symbolize the friendship between the two cities. It was on the ledge here that I sat, draping my legs down into the abyss over the plains. I hummed as I braided my light brown hair. Suddenly, the world went dark. A pair of hands had closed over my eyes, shutting out the world. I smiled, my own fingers reaching up to trace the skin. The hands were rough with work, capable of great strength, but I knew them always to be gentle rather than callous.

"Still playing games, Thorin?" I asked with a grin.

"Sticklebats," He muttered. "How do you always know?" He replied, coming to sit beside me.

I turned to look at him. He wore his usual steel-toed black boots and breeches, as well as a dark red tunic whose sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. His hair was jet black, draping down his strong shoulders to the middle of his back. He smirked at me.

"What?" He asked through the smile.

I shook my head. "Sticklebats?"

A blush came to his face, flushing all the way up to his ears. Still, he smiled at me as he replied. "It's nice to see you, too, Nimuwyn. How was the hunt this morning?"

I rolled my eyes. "Thwarted by a spider, of all things."

It was his turn to gaze sideways at me. "A spider? Really?"

I slapped him on the shoulder. "Not a tiny thing, you stubborn princeling."

He laughed at me all the same.

"It was bigger than the buck I had in my sights," I said seriously. "I've never seen anything like it. I wouldn't even be here to tell about it, had it not been for that Elf."

A frown crossed his features. "What Elf?"

"I never saw him; he killed the spider with arrows. I didn't exactly stick around to inspect the corpse."

He shook his head disapprovingly. "Elves."

"Watch your tongue," I said. "My mother is an Elf, and I'm half-wise."

Another smirk graced his lovely mouth. "Half-wise, indeed."

He caught my hand as it came down, holding it firmly in his own. We stayed that way, watching the sun go down, until the bells sounded from Erebor, calling him home.

* * *

He thought of Nimuwyn as he worked at the forge. In three days' time, a new month would begin, the first day marking her 25th birthday. She had not changed overmuch, not since they were children playing hide-and-seek in the streets so many years ago. The fact that she was half-Elven never bothered him—she had more of her father in her than her mother, a true daughter of the Dunedain. Since Urvain's death, however, her mother's influence had grown strong, and he saw subtle changes in his best friend that she certainly did not see in herself. She worried more about her appearance, she fretted over the idea that she should be stitching tapestries instead of hunting Elk. Such ideas had never crossed her mind before her father's passing, but now it was as if she didn't know which role to fill: her father's wish for her, or her mother's. He smiled at the picture of her in his mind, not three days past. They had been beyond the gates of Dale, tracking a herd of lost goats across the plains. She was among the wilderness, happy and free of worry. It was an image he always wanted to remember, and one he feared he would forget.

His work, when he returned his attention to it, was finished quickly. The metal had cooled, the gems had been set, and what sat before him in the small stone box was a true work of art. His birthday present for Nimuwyn was complete, and he was immensely proud of it, if he did say so himself. He pocketed the box and wandered the halls of Erebor, until he was called to the throne room by his father's messenger. Thus, the day's work began, and he would be dragged from royal duty to royal duty, until day's end. Then he would do as he always did—slip out the side gate, unnoticed, to join Nimuwyn on another adventure. Even now, at the age of twenty-nine, he still looked forward to them. His father and grandfather were too proud to understand how he could be such good friends with a half-Elven Dunedain, of all things. It was respect for her father that truly swayed them in the end; he knew this. Urvain had always been courteous to the Dwarves, even going so far as to side with them over their right to govern themselves, rather than submit to a joint ruling with the people of Dale. Still, those times were long past, and he could see the changes that were taking place in his grandfather's mind. He had amassed a fortune of gold and jewels so great that it rivaled even the riches of Mithril in Moria. It had begun to poison him, turning him against everyone but himself. He grew paranoid, locking himself in the treasury for hours on end. Thorin could do nothing but watch as the greed consumed Thror's mind, leaving his father to rule in his stead. He feared that something darker would soon come to Erebor—rumors had grown in recent years of a Drake from the south, cursed to be forever asleep until the call of riches cannot be ignored. Dragons, he knew, coveted gold above all else, and he feared that the treasure of Erebor would awaken him once more….

* * *

My eyes flew open as a great, loud, persistent noise clanged in my ears. I knew it to be the bells of Erebor, but why would they ring at such an hour? Unless….

"Valar's blood!" I cursed the as the morning sun filtered through my window. "Thorin!"

I ran through the still sleeping city, the deep and sorrowful noise of the bells still tolling their slow rhythm. The hood of my hunting tunic was pulled up over my face, shielding me from the biting wind that proceeded the winter months. I came to the watchtower where the noise sounded loudest, situated at the far end of the Overlook above the gate to Erebor. At the top of said tower, sweat on his brow from beating the bell, was my best friend. Thorin wiped his face with a sleeve of his shirt, not missing the angry look upon my face.

"I hope you're happy," I said sternly. "I lost a wonderful dream because of that confounded bell."

He smirked at me, his bright blue eyes full of their usual mischief. "Good morning, Nimuwyn."

I rolled my eyes. "Couldn't you just, you know, knock on the door?"

He shook his head. "I have responsibilities now, surely you understand that. The ringing of the bell wasn't just for you; we always ring in a new month this way."

"Can I help it if my birthday falls on the first? Besides, you're Prince of Erebor—I don't see why that should stop you from having friends."

A frown came to his mouth; his eyes were shadowed with anger I knew to be a jest. The familiar smirk played at the edge of his lips, but he said not a word. Instead, he lunged forward, and I cried out and ran down the stairs of the tower. He chased after me, sprinting across the bridge and catching me around the waist just as I neared the shadowed underpass. I laughed and swatted him on the shoulder.

"Let go, Thorin."

"Not until you apologize for being terribly rude to a Prince." His voice was deep and overly dramatic.

I rolled my eyes again. "I'm sorry, your royal Highness."

He tickled my ribs with one hand, making me laugh so hard it brought tears to my eyes.

"Alright, alright!" I cried, breathless. "I apologize for being so rude!"

He feigned a snobbish sigh. "I suppose I can accept."

He let me loose, taking my hand in his. From his pocket, he took a small stone box. Within was a pristine silver ring. I gasped at the sight of it, excitement lighting a fire within my chest. Three gemstones glittered out at me, one deep blue, one white, and the third the light blue of the sky.

"I made it myself. This one," He said, pointing to the dark blue sapphire. "Is for Erebor."

I gestured to the white diamond. "And this?"

"For Dale."

As he slipped it onto my middle finger, he spoke again, softer this time.

"The aquamarine is for the union of the two cities. If we are ever apart, you need only look at the ring to remind you of home, and of me."

I couldn't stop the tears that came from my eyes. I embraced him, holding on with all my strength until he pulled me back.

"Happy birthday, Nimuwyn."

Without thinking, I pressed my lips to his in a brief kiss. His own mouth did not object; rather, it yielded to mine with something akin to gratitude. I inhaled the scent of him, a distinct mix of the smoke of a forge and the open air of the plains. When I let go and looked at him, he seemed stunned. Before he could reply, I ran back to my house, the door shutting gently behind me. I could not have known, then, that those were the last truly happy times I would have for a great number of years.


	2. One--Don't Kill The Messenger

It didn't take me long to realize that I was covered in blood. It was running down my face from a gash on my forehead, as well as from numerous slashes on my arms. I tried to move my legs, coming to the frightening conclusion that I was stuck under something very heavy. I looked around. The city was in embers, still burning ruins of the once great kingdom I had loved and lived in since I was born. Rubble and bodies littered the streets, thick black smoke curled up into an inky sky filled with stars that were too beautiful to be in a destroyed scene such as this. I pondered that for a moment, thinking of how strange I must look, stuck under a dilapidated house and admiring the stars. My lungs burned from the sooty air, tears flowed from my eyes as I searched the surroundings for any sign of life. A figure caught my attention, lumbering around some distance ahead of where I lay.

"You!" I cried out, the sudden use of my smoke-covered vocal chords sending me into a coughing fit. "Help me!"

The figure whipped its head in my direction, sniffing the air. The way it moved sent chills down my spine, and I realized what a grave mistake I had just made. It came towards me, moving faster as both it—and I—realized how helpless I was. The grime covered Goblin came into view within moments, holding a crude bone cudgel above its head, like a snake poised to strike. I managed to pick up a stone and throw it, but in my prone state I had little leverage. The rock missed, barely brushing his ankle as it landed with a clatter some feet away. My heart raced in my chest, and I closed my eyes as he brought the weapon down.

There was a buzz as an arrow whipped through the air and embedded itself into the Goblin's chest. He fell to the ground with a strangled cry, but moved no more. A man in a shoddy brown coat ran up to me, bow in hand. His face was cut and wrinkled with age, the white hair on his head stood nearly on end where it had been singed by the flames. Still, his eyes were kind, and I had no fear of him. With surprising strength, he moved the wooden beams that had fallen onto me.

"Come on, now," He said gently, helping me up to my feet. "Any pain, lass?"

I shook my head, no words finding their way to purpose. The man nodded in satisfaction and walked through the streets with me in tow, humming softly to himself. We walked through the carnage for what seemed like hours, passing other survivors who were doing the same. We crested the first hill of the surrounding plains, and I turned to look upon the remains of my home. The wind moaned through the pines, ablaze like torches with the light of fire as red as blood. It was not something I would forget, nor was the sorrow I felt at the sight of the now tarnished Dale and the great Dwarfish realm of Erebor behind. My heart broke for all we had lost, but I followed my rescuer and the other survivors as we began to wander, homeless and broken, across the distance.

* * *

**91 Years Later**

I was shaken from the memory of Dale by my horse, a dun mare as brown as the earth. I called her Elanor, and at the moment I was questioning her intelligence. She had stopped, smack-dab in the middle of the open fields of the Trollshaws, for no apparent reason. Night was falling, and Orcs would be out soon enough to scavenge what they could from the ruined line of caravans I was supposed to be inspecting. The wagons laid out before me, battered and broken, bodies still warm where they had fallen. The carnage looked simple enough—no doubt they had been ambushed, most probably for the goods they transported. I rifled through the wagons, however, and found this claim to be false. The fabrics, food, and blacksmith's handiwork that they were ferrying were all still where they had been packed, if a bit shaken up by the attack. The only thing missing, I realized, were the horses. Not a single corpse or sign of the beast remained with the unfortunate travelers, and this made the hairs on my neck stand on end. Orcs had no use for horses, not even for food…but Mountain Trolls did.

I mounted Elanor and shook my head. It was impossible. True, they would have attacked at night because of their aversion to the sun, but Trolls (no matter how dense) never ventured this far south. The Elves of Rivendell would not condone it—if even a whisper of evil was detected, they would drive it back from whence it came without question. So it had been for many hundreds of years. I turned Elanor around and began the trek back to the small village of Taralin that I now called home. We had not gotten fifty feet from the caravan remains when Elanor stopped again.

"Oh, sticklebats! What's gotten into you, Elanor?"

Her ears pricked back, and I realized why after a moment of tense silence. A deafening noise echoed across the distance, becoming louder and louder as the moments passed. If I didn't know any better, I would say that a herd of Olifants was stampeding in my direction. The sky above was already dark, and I had been careless in my timekeeping. The list of possible explanations was growing thinner by the second. My pulse quickened as three lumbering forms emerged from the darkness, charging straight for Elanor.

They were no Olifants.

I gave a short yip and Elanor launched into a gallop, but it was for naught. Outrunning one hungry Mountain Troll was a feat in itself, but giving the slip to three of them? I swerved Elanor around, making tight corners around boulders in hopes I would throw them off. Even if I gained ground, they would close in, though it took them a minute to do so. At last, they formed a circle around Elanor and me, blocking all paths for escape.

"What do you want?" I cried up at them.

"That horse looks tasty," The biggest one said.

"D'you reckon we should skin it first?" Asked the smallest.

The third troll, whose left eye was clouded over, slapped his brother upside the head. "Shut yer trap! Leave the cookin' ta me!"

I had to think quickly. True, trolls were dull, but they had two passions: food and all things treasure. I removed the belt that held my long-knives.

"If you spare me and my horse, I will give you these shiny swords," I said to them, speaking slowly.

"Hear that, fellas? She's bargaining with us," the largest one sneered. "Got a pretty head on her shoulders, this one."

"Those is some shiny swords," The youngest mumbled.

"There's only two. That's good enough to let you go, not the horse," the milk-eyed troll growled.

My only other bargaining chip was the ring on my left hand. Still, there was no way I was abandoning Elanor to such a horrific end. My heart hurt in my chest as I removed the ring, but it had to be done.

"I will give you this ring," I said loudly. "And my swords, in exchange for me and my horse to go free."

The largest one examined the ring with acute fascination, like a man who had been given water after a trip through the desert.

"This," He said, his breathing ragged. "This is a worthy trade. Come on, boys, there'll be no trouble here tonight."

So it was that the trolls lumbered away into the trees, taking my two most prized possessions with them. I was left with Elanor in the dark, forced to turn tail and ride home, carrying a heavy heart.


	3. Two--Reunion

Even before he rode through the gates of Imladris, Elrond knew that a company of Dwarves, a hobbit, and a Wizard of no small renown had passed into his realm seeking refuge and council. He saw them there, weapons raised as he directed his riders into a circle around them. Still, their arrival was not on the forefront of his mind. He dismounted, looking to his son Elladan and the wounded woman he carried with him, holding her limp form prone in his arms.

"Take her to the empty chambers on the western end of the House," He said, using his native tongue. "She does not have long, we must act quickly. Go, Elladan!"

His son needed no further instruction. He moved past the Dwarves, and Elrond watched him go. He did not fail to notice the eyes of one Khazâd—he watched the woman with a look of shock, his gaze fixed in particular on her face, a pale beauty that was marred with lifelessness. All would be answered in time; he knew this. So, without further ado, he greeted Mithrandir, putting the woman out of his mind.

* * *

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep_

_And caverns old_

_We must away,_

'_Ere break of day_

_To find our long forgotten gold_

_The pines were roaring_

_On the height_

_The winds were moaning_

_In the night_

_The fire was red,_

_It, flaming, spread_

_The trees, like torches, blazed with light…_

The low baritone pierced through the darkness of my nightmares, calling me back to the waking world. I had heard the voice before, but only when I opened my eyes and looked into his face could I place its origin. As if from a dream, I found myself gazing into the eyes of Thorin Oakenshield, well and truly alive. One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile as I looked over the lines on his face, bringing a hand up to where grey had begun to weave into the black of his hair. Without thought, I wove the soft hair over my hand, still refusing to believe that I had reentered the world of the living.

"Time reaches all of us," he said softly, making no move to push me away.

"You are real, then? My eyes are not cheated by some spell?"

He shook his head. "There is no magic here, Nimuwyn; save perhaps happy chance.''

Night was losing its sway over the world; already I could see the eastern sky pale with the rising sun. A mist had begun to form over the trees, and though the remaining stars shone brightly overhead, a frown played at the edges of my mouth.

"What weight has fallen onto you, my friend?" I asked him, my hand moving from his hair to cradle one side of his face.

"The events of ninety-one years cannot be put into a single sentence," He said, already lost in a memory I could only guess at. "We have much to speak of, but you must rest."

He took my hand from his face and held it, even as I sat up, wincing at the sudden pain in my ribs. He was about to speak, when a new voice sounded from the doorway.

"Uncle! Gandalf asks for you, and—"

The dark haired dwarf, who looked very much like Thorin had many years past, stopped mid-sentence. He seemed to have realized that he had walked in on something he wasn't supposed to see. The blonde who stood beside him cleared his throat.

"Apologies," he said. "We didn't realize…"

Thorin had a stern look on his face, but he waved a hand at them. "Come in, boys."

The two dwarves stepped gingerly into the room, their eyes on me.

"Fili, Kili," he said, addressing first the blonde and then the raven-haired one. "This is Nimuwyn of the Dunedain."

Recognition flashed across their faces, and they bowed to me before speaking.

"Uncle has told us stories of you," Kili said eagerly.

"We never thought to meet you," Fili added.

"At your service, my lady," They said together.

I laughed. "Stories, Thorin? Only good ones, I hope?"

His face was impassive, but his eyes carried a tiny spark of the old mischief they had always held in our youth.

"The very best," he assured me after a minute.

Fili and Kili exchanged glances before seating themselves at the edges of the bed. Before Thorin or I knew what was happening, they were asking for more tales. It was half past two in the afternoon when Elrond walked in, followed by a man in grey robes and a pointed blue hat.

"Gandalf," Thorin said, more of a greeting than a statement.

"Good gracious, Thorin," The Wizard said, stepping past Elrond with a huff of impatience. "I sent these two before dawn to find you!"

"Forgive us," Fili and Kili said together.

"We have been sharing stories," I explained. "It is my fault they were delayed, Mithrandir."

I used the Elvish name for the Wizard, knowing it from my mother's talk of him when I was young. He seemed to calm down after a moment.

"No matter. You must rest, Nimuwyn—when your strength has returned, I will send for you. Now, if you please, I have need of the Dwarves."

I smiled at the younger ones, who seemed reluctant to leave. Thorin took one last look at me and ushered them out, leaving a loud silence in his wake.

Eventually, Elrond, too, left me after a bit of conversation, but not before I confirmed my theory of how I had come to Rivendell in the first place. The nightmares I had while in his care gave me shadows, forms of smoke that I tried to grasp but couldn't quite reach. So, I asked my rescuer for answers instead. Orc raiders, he told me, had ambushed me as I crossed the Trollshaws. Elanor was killed, and I would have been too, had the Elven patrol not crossed my path. By happy chance, Elrond said, they had been alerted to the presence of Mordor Wargs not a mile north of me. It was on their journey back to Rivendell that I was found. Sad for the loss of my mount, but satisfied with an answer to my question, I took the chance to explore. I dressed into the light blue tunic that had been laid out, pulling the soft shirt over my bandaged ribs with care. Once I had donned the grey leather breeches and boots at the foot of the bed, I stood up and breathed deeply. The air here was warmer than I had expected—I left my fur-lined overcoat where it hung on the post of the bed. Walking out into the open air, I marveled at the architecture of the place called Imladris. White stone was crafted in such a way that it seemed almost woven together, forming the buildings and bridges that sat among the waterfalls as if they had been there since time began. My mother had told me stories of the Elven realms, but to see one before me was truly awe-inspiring. Days passed in quiet contemplation, though Fili and Kili would visit me often with tales of their own, speaking of warg-scouts and troll hoards given half a chance. They told me of Orcrist and Glamdring, and the other wonders stored in that foul-smelling cave. Their stories gave me something to look forward to, but it was the power of Rivendell itself that truly tipped the scales in my favor. With every hour that went by, I could feel strength returning to my limbs.

Night had fallen, and the company of Dwarves was gathered around a bonfire that had been lit in the center of a stone patio. By this time, I had been introduced to them all, courtesy of Fili and Kili: Balin (brother to Dwalin), a kind old fellow whose hair had gone white, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur (the first did not speak, due to an old war wound—and a sliver of an axe—in his head; the second (his brother) wore a hat that stuck out at both ends and spoke far too much; the third was their cousin and was the fattest dwarf I had ever seen); Dwalin (a stone-faced dwarf with no hair on his head), Dori , Nori, and Ori (the first had white hair braided like rows of corn atop his head; the second had his brown locks raised like a pyramid; and the third wore fingerless gloves on his hands, and a slingshot in his pocket), Gloin (the only redhead of the bunch, and an opinionated one at that), and Oin (Gloin's brother, always mixing salves and poultices to heal all manner of things).

Several Elves, including Elrond and his twin sons, were also present, as were the hobbit Bilbo Baggins and Gandalf the grey. Food had been shared, and the evening was winding down with drink and song.

"Tell us a story, Nimuwyn," Kili said, a slight slur in his words.

I thought for a moment, going back to a distant memory of my father telling tales by the fire.

"I shall tell you of Morgoth and Fingolfin," I said, a slight smile on my face as I saw my father speaking those exact words. "Of Dagor Bragollach, the Battle of Sudden Flame."

Elrond's eyes shone with pride at my decision, and all eyes were upon me as I began, with Kili and Fili doing their best to act out my words. At last I reached the climax of my tale, and the laughter died down as the audience hung on my every word.

"_**When Fingolfin, the High King of the Noldor, learned of the losses of so many of his kin, he rode in anger across the dust of Anfauglith and challenged Morgoth to single combat."**_

(Here, Kili pretended to hold the reigns of a horse as he rode up to Fili, who stood upon a bench, glaring down menacingly.)

_**At the doors of Angband itself, they fought a great duel. Fingolfin's sword, Ringil, wounded Morgoth seven times."**_

Fili cried out in pain as Kili brandished his own blade, pretending to run his brother through with it, all to the continuing cheers and laughter of the audience.

"_**Yet, he was felled by Morgoth's hammer, Grond, and slain by Morgoth's mighty foot."**_

Kili fell to the ground, making choking sounds as Fili stepped onto his throat in jest, holding up an invisible hammer and laughing maniacally.

"_**But even as Morgoth stood upon the throat of the King, Fingolfin struck one last blow to Morgoth's foot before he succumbed to his injuries. Morgoth's own wounds never healed after that battle, and he limped everafter."**_

I couldn't help but break into laughter as I finished the telling—the image of Kili lying dead on the ground as Fili limped away into shadow had everyone smiling. Applause came next, both for me and for the Dwarves. It was a fine way to end an evening, and I found myself smiling as I lay down to sleep that night, even though a darkness I could not imagine had begun to stir deep within my own heart….


	4. Three--Of Shiny Swords And Moody Dwarves

I woke well before dawn. Silently, I dressed into traveling clothes: a pair of fur-lined boots and matching brown breeches, a white linen undershirt beneath the blue Elven tunic I had received upon my arrival, my hooded overcoat, and a dark cloak. I passed the courtyard where the Dwarves still slept soundly, many covered in furs to ward off the chill of morning. I had my own warm overcoat on, pulled tightly over my clothes, the collar and hood up to protect my face from the wind that blew in from the mountains. Gandalf, I knew, would be in session with the White Council—himself, Saruman the White, Elrond, and the fabled Galadriel of the Golden Wood. No doubt they were trying to convince him to abandon the quest to retake Erebor…but I had a feeling in my heart that, regardless of what decision they came to, Thorin would continue on—with or without their blessings. He was who I turned to now, thinking of our times as children so many years ago. My left hand looked melancholy and bare without his ring upon it. Even the stars seemed dim, as if they shone in the sky from behind a veil of smoke. I leaned against the railing of the balcony I had found, overlooking the Bridge of Rivendell and the gates of Imladris beyond. Thorin did not approve of me following him on this quest, but he knew I would not be swayed in this.

_He began to walk away from me, back toward his company and the promise of sleep._

"_Thorin! Why will you not listen to me as you once did?"_

_He turned; his eyes full of sorrow, his mouth in a hard line on his face._

"_Do you know me so little that you think I have no place in this? There was a time when we shared everything—this journey is no different. If you seek to reclaim Erebor, I will fight with you—whether by your will or not!"_

_Something snapped in him, a cool anger I had not seen before emerged from within his mind. He strode forward and grabbed me by the arm, forcing me to look at him dead-on._

"_Do not trouble me with talk of your place, Nimuwyn. It was your place to cling to the skirts of your Elven mother, but you did not do so. It was your place to live your life as a Human woman should, with children at her feet, but you did not do so. Whatever thoughts linger in your mind of me—cast them out! I am not the playmate you knew as a babe, or the foolish boy you kissed beneath the Overlook. I am cold, I am stone, and I will have none of your talk of childish things!"_

_He released my arm, and a chilling silence passed between us. Then, without a second thought, I slapped him hard across the face, my nails leaving three small cuts on his cheek. Before he could respond, I turned and fled, disappearing into the shadows of the House as my own anger began to boil._

The argument had been bitter, and left us both deeply troubled. If nothing else, it reminded me that we were no longer the same two individuals—time had indeed reached us both. With a sigh and a heavy heart, my gaze returned to the horizon, still dark with the cloak of night.

"Do not let your heart be troubled, Nimuwyn of the Dunedain," Said a song-like voice beside me.

I looked to my right and found myself staring at the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She wore a long white gown, her golden hair framing a face untouched by age or any mortal flaw. I knew it was Galadriel before she spoke another word.

"You have great courage," She said. "And your heart is true. There are many evils in this world, but you will rise above them."

My brow furrowed in confusion. "How do you know, my lady?"

She smiled, bringing a great sense of peace with the gesture that fell over me like water upon rock.

"Shall I tell you what I have seen of you in my mirror?"

I nodded, unable to form a reply.

"You face many choices before you, but chief among them is the decision to leave these walls. The road beyond Rivendell will be full of peril, and not without great pains. However, if you remain here, joy will be found quickly, and you will bear children who will fill your days with song."

Tears came, unbidden, to fill my eyes. "Is there a flaw to such a fate?"

There was a pause. "Your spirit will fade, as your mothers did after the fall of your father."

I covered my face with one hand. Galadriel continued as if I had not begun to cry.

"The treacherous path will bring you above all who have come before you, placing you among legend for all of time."

She waited, then, and I assumed she wanted a response. I spoke the truth.

"I do not desire glory, my lady."

"I can see into your mind," She said inside my head. "You desire a love so complete that it, too, will be worthy of a tale. This you shall have, if you take the road beyond the gates."

"No such gift comes without a high price."

She smiled again. "A price that will be paid, in the end, should you follow where that fate leads."

There was a long silence, then. When I looked back to her, she held out her hands to me, her entire being surrounded by a white glow. In her palms, facing the sky, was a sword. The blade was long and slightly curved, carved with Elvish runes all the way down to the glittering white hilt. The weapon shone with a radiance that reminded me of the sun upon snow—indeed, the metal shimmered like a spike of ice beneath its woven leather sheath. It was a glorious sword, and my heart swelled to see it.

"Behold," She said, her voice low. "Ringil, the fabled sword of Fingolfin. I offer it to you, Nimuwyn of the Dunedain, for you are as brave a soul as the High King of Noldor himself. Even from Valinor, he would smile to see you bear this weapon. Accept it as a symbol of your choice."

After a moment, the laughter of children I had not yet birthed fading in my ears, I took the sword from her hands, knowing that the decision was the right one to make. I fastened it around my waist, but when I looked up again, the Lady of the Golden Wood had gone, leaving me alone to greet the last morning I would ever see in Rivendell.

* * *

I walked between Bofur and Bilbo as we left the refuge of Elrond. Gandalf had given us instruction to leave in the morning, with or without him—and, seeing as he was still in the meeting of the Council when we were all prepared, our leader chose to go on ahead. I knew the Wizard would catch up, though others of the company seemed less convinced. Thorin was at the head of the line—let him stay there and lick his wounds, I thought with a hidden smirk. I turned my attention instead to Bofur, who was speaking of his trade as a woodworker and carver of toys before this quest had been formed. He didn't seem to need an audience, but Bilbo was listening attentively all the same, his small legs moving fast to keep up with the wider steps of his friend. Soon, I had taken up position as last in line, but I enjoyed the solitude. After a day's hike, over hill and rock and grove, we stopped to rest. Bifur, Bofur, and Dwalin built a fire in the center of a clearing. Bombur set about to cooking with help from Balin, while the others laid down their bedding for the night. I placed my own bedroll beneath a pair of birch trees, reclining on the furs with a contented sigh. The stars were hidden by heavy clouds tonight, but no rain was due to fall, according to the somewhat prophetic opinions of Nori, who had yet to be wrong in his weather predictions. Bilbo, Fili, and Kili set up camp quite close to me—we formed a circle, when all was said and done, which served well for conversation.

"D'you suppose we_ will_ defeat Smaug, Nimuwyn?" Kili asked me quietly, as Bilbo searched through his pack for something unknown.

I shrugged. "One can hope, though a dragon is a fierce foe and no mistake. It will be a battle worth telling stories about, that's certain."

"Perhaps our acting skills will have improved some by then," Fili said with a wink.

There was a triumphant "ah-ha!" from Bilbo as he found what he was searching for. With a smile he pulled out a bundle of cloth—wrapped in it were several cakes, perhaps the size of my fist. They were purple in color, with yellow pansies on the top and dark seeds dotting the soft insides.

"These," Bilbo said with pride. "Are the last of my famous Flower Cakes. Homemade, these are. Delicious, if I do say so myself."

He put the cakes in the middle of our circle, and we shared.

"These are fantastic," I said through a bit of a mouthful.

The twins voiced their agreement, though it sounded mostly like muffled humming because they were eating far too much.

"Remind me," Fili said once he had finished the last one. "To keep you around, Master Baggins."

The hobbit blushed. "Call me Bilbo, please; and I can give you the recipe if you like."

Kili laughed, almost choking. "Fili couldn't boil water if he tried!"

The blonde dwarf punched his brother in the shoulder. "I bet I could, you half-wit!"

I smiled. "But…you've never actually tried?"

It was his turn to blush, turning red all the way up to his ears. "Not yet, no. But when I do…"

"Every bit of crockery in Erebor will tremble," Bilbo said in a heroic voice. "Am I right?"

"Aye!" Fili agreed. "Right you are."

Kili put a hand on his face, shaking his head in disbelief. I laughed at the three of them, feeling genuinely happy for the first time in a long while. Eventually, though, all talk ceased, and sleep fell over the night camp.

When next I opened my eyes, Fili's bed was empty, the furs cold with his absence. I sat up and looked around, stopping when I saw him standing at the edge of the stream that ran through our makeshift campground. Quietly I stood and walked over to him.

"Thought you might notice," He said without looking away from the water.

"Are you alright?" I asked him.

He nodded. "Just worried, can't sleep. Kili and I have been together since we were born. No matter what life brings to us, we meet it as one. He's the youngest of the company, not so versed in the world, if you know what I mean. He can take care of himself, sure, but…well, if anything were to happen to him…"

I put a hand on his shoulder. "You take care of each other, Fili, when you could choose to look out only for yourselves. There is no greater honor than that."

He smiled at me, then. "You speak wise words, for such a young woman."

I laughed quietly. "Young in appearance, perhaps. Though even I have to admit, I look impressive for someone who is one-hundred-and-sixteen."

Gingerly, Fili brought a hand up and caught a piece of my hair between his fingers.

"The locks behind your ears have turned white," He said softly, almost as if he were mesmerized by what he was looking at. "But it suits you, I think."

I smiled at him as he lowered his hand to his side after a moment.

"Did Thorin ever tell you about my 25th birthday?" I asked him after some minutes had passed.

Fili shook his head. I smiled and relayed the story of that day, beginning with the morning tolling of the bells and ending with the ring, crafted by Thorin's own hand.

"I lost it in barter, some weeks ago," I said sadly.

Fili reached into a pocket on the inside of his tunic. "Is this the ring you speak of?"

I couldn't stop myself from smiling. "Where on earth…"

"I found it in the troll-hoard Kili and I told you about," He said, putting it onto my hand.

I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, but it was so dark I didn't see him blush red.

"I am in your debt, Fili," I said to him. "Thank you for bringing this back to me!"

He nodded. "Do not think on it, Nimuwyn."

I stood and made to walk back to my bed beneath the trees. "Will you not try and sleep?"

"Not just yet."

"Do not worry so much for Kili, my friend. He is more capable than you realize."

He didn't seem convinced, but I did not push the subject. I turned my thoughts instead to the day ahead, and what the rest of our journey would bring.


	5. Four--Down, Down To Goblin-Town

At one-hundred-and-sixteen, I had seen much in my life that would shock most people. One thing I had not expected to encounter, however, were Giants of the Mountains, great behemoths made of stone who, on occasion, brought about thunder and lightning as they hurled boulders at each other in the pouring rain. The Dwarves called it a Thunder Battle, and Bilbo took it to be the coming of the end of the world—but, whatever it was, we were caught in the middle of it. We had thought it to be a simple mountain pass, though still tough to travel in the rain. When the ground beneath us moved, and a giant slammed a stone onto his fellow across the way, fear took hold. The rocks split as a third giant stood up on his legs, separating a good number of us from the rest. I slipped down the rock face, and if Ringil hadn't been attached to me, I would have lost it in the abyss below. Bofur reached out and caught my wrist in his hand, pulling me up with Kili's help. The other group of Dwarves across the way gave a collective cry as another boulder slammed down above their heads. This went on for harrowing minutes, until at last one beast lost his footing and fell down onto the mountains, his massive form slipping from the rock and into the mists of the canyon that stretched, endlessly, beneath our feet. The others continued throwing stones, but they were lumbering away from us, and eventually we allowed ourselves to breathe. As the smoke cleared, the path reformed, and we had a direction again. I lifted Bilbo back up onto the path when he slipped, his fingers grappling at the rock for some kind of hold. He was shaken, but we followed Thorin and the others without a word when Ori shouted to us from up ahead.

"A cave!" He said. "It's dry, at least, and empty besides!"

It was also small, which he forgot to mention. The thirteen Dwarves, once they had settled, were sleeping shoulder-to-shoulder on the packed dirt floor. Bilbo had squeezed himself onto a raised bit of ledge, eyes already shut and moving with the arrival of dreams. I stood watch, standing at the mouth of the cave, just out of reach of the cold rain. For the longest time, the only sounds to be heard were the snores of Bombur and the deep breathing of the others as they slept. The mountains outside were quiet, even as the rain continued its unending assault. I looked at the ring on my hand with great sadness, the bitter argument returning to my memory once again. Thorin still bore the cuts on his face, and though it pained me to see them, I did not regret my actions.

"Are you well?" A voice asked softly behind me.

I turned to see Fili, a look of concern in his eyes.

I smiled at him, biting back my emotions. "Do not trouble yourself with me, my friend. Now, what is it you wanted?"

He shrugged. "It's my turn for the watch."

I sighed, defeated. Time had gotten away from me again. I placed myself into a corner that hadn't been taken, pulling my knees up to my chest so that I could fit. I crossed my arms and laid my head down, falling into a fitful sleep that was plagued by darkness and moving shadows that whispered terrible fortunes into my ears.

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I heard a loud hiss, like a thousand snakes. Then, Thorin bellowed above it, his voice echoing off the walls like a roll of thunder.

"Up! Everybody up!"

I opened my eyes—the ground of the cave was sinking, becoming the sand of an hourglass and falling into darkness. All of us were up and moving toward the walls, but it was too late. We fell as the floor disappeared, landing roughly onto a wooden walkway that creaked beneath the sudden weight. Kili rushed to my side and helped me to my feet. I gave him a nod of silent thanks, and looked around. We were in the mountains—in Dwarven mines, from the look of things. These walkways, however, were of Goblin make, and they weaved every which way like threads in a tapestry. The Orcs had been here for a long, long time…and that had me worried above all else. From the head of the line, Thorin's eyes locked onto mine for a brief moment—he seemed to share my concerns, but said nothing. There was a cold fire in his eyes that told me our argument still burned in his mind, as it did in mine. I looked away and let things lie, leaving him to turn and survey the new path we found ourselves following. He took steps forward, moving with a slow caution. His attempts at subtlety, however, proved futile.

They knew we were here.

A loud, crooked screech sounded from somewhere. Before I could blink, they were upon us. Hundreds of the slimy creatures came crawling out of everywhere and nowhere, swarming around us like bees. We were lifted up and carried away, but not before I saw Bilbo duck behind a mining cart. At least one of us was safe.

The Goblins brought us into a wide chamber, filled to the brim with more of their kind, gathered around the cave like it was some kind of theater or fighting arena. We were brought to a platform, where an enormous Orc sat upon a throne, a crude iron crown atop his head. He grinned as we were placed before him.

"Well, what have we here? Longbeards and Maiden fair! Wanderers in Goblin-Town! Spies, perhaps? Speak!"

The company stayed silent.

The Goblin-King frowned, nodding slightly in my direction. "If you will not talk, then I shall force your words."

The Goblin closest to me came up behind me and forced me to my knees with a swift kick. A second took the sleeve on my right arm and wrenched it down, exposing the skin.

"Looks sweet, this one," said the lackey who held my shoulders.

I saw the hatred in Fili and Kili as they glared at him, hands on their swords.

The one who tore at my sleeve took a dagger from his waist, slicing slowly and deeply across the palm of my hand. I moaned through gritted teeth, my eyes burning into Thorin's, telling him to be silent. Our quest was not privy to the ears of Goblin filth, and he knew that as well as I, despite the wound that stung between us. So, ignoring pleading looks from the others, Thorin held his tongue. It was only when the Goblin put another gash onto my other hand that he let out a strangled cry, echoing my own that I could no longer conceal.

"Stop this!" Thorin cried. "We have no quarrel with you!"

The Goblin King narrowed his eyes until they were slits in his face. "I know you…Thorin, son of Thrain! The Pale Orc will pay handsomely for your head."

"Lies!" Thorin spat. "He died years ago."

"You foolish Dwarf. Your pride will get you killed, in the end. Servant! Tell the Defiler that I have found his prize."

A tiny Orc in a makeshift lift sped down a heavy cable, moving away from us and into the darkness with all speed to deliver his master's message. Without wasting another moment, Thorin unsheathed Orcrist, baring his teeth in a growl.

The Goblin-King recoiled, fear filling his eyes. "I know that sword. It is biter; it is the Goblin-cleaver! Kill them, kill them! Kill them all!"

A flash of white light made it impossible to see. I put my hands over my eyes, blood running thick down my arms. Gandalf had broken through the gates of Goblin-Town, Glamdring in one hand and his staff in the other.

"Fight!" He cried. "Fight them!"

The Dwarves didn't need to be told twice. I, however, tried to run as fast as possible. My newly acquired wounds prevented me from holding Ringil, and so I was about as useful as a knife in a bow-fight. Dwalin, as it happened, took the liberty of shadowing me as I fled—a most useful, and unexpected, guardian if there ever was one. I was dimly aware of the events that followed, only remembering Gandalf slicing the Goblin-King across the chest as we stood on a raised platform. None of us had seen the lesser Orcs cut the ropes that held us up until it was too late, and we were falling into the abyss of the mines, screaming all the way down. Our landing, surprisingly, happened without a bone broken or a life lost.

"Well," Ori said loudly from beneath a stack of wooden slats. "That could have been worse."

The dead weight of the Goblin-King tumbled down, landing onto the platform—and the Dwarves beneath it—with a sickening thud.

"Oh, you've _got_ to be joking!" Dwalin cursed, nearly breathless.

Gandalf took my hands in his, wrapping them with two long strips of cloth, straight from the grey robes he wore. He was about to speak, when Bofur interrupted him.

"Durin's beard…" He pointed up, to the light we had fallen from.

Goblins were appearing in huge numbers, crawling after us as fast as they could manage.

"These will have to hold," Gandalf said to me. "Run, all of you!"

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By the time we reached the other side of the mines, the fading rays of the sun visible through the pass, I was weak from the amount of blood I had lost. My head was spinning, my legs were shaking, and I could barely focus my vision long enough to see Fili and Kili as they ran back to support me on either side, their arms holding me up beneath my shoulders. Tall and scraggly pines stretched to a sheer drop at the end of the mountains. Beyond it, I saw the trees of the Greenwood for the first time in 91 years. A shadow had fallen over them, swirling like the mists that flirted with the tops of the mountains.

"We cannot rest for long," Gandalf said, even as the company came to a stop. "They will be upon us by nightfall if we linger here."

I slumped against the trunk of a tree, trying to control my breathing. The makeshift bandages were soaked through, turned an angry shade of crimson.

"There must have been something on that dagger of his," Oin said with a shake of his head. "Your blood loss should not be this severe, or have lasted this long."

He reached into the leather satchel he always wore around his shoulder. As the others spoke of Bilbo and his absence, Oin took a bottle from his pack and opened the cork. He took a handful of the thick yellow paste and spread it onto the wounds, securing the strips of cloth over them as quickly as he could. Whatever this poultice was, it felt like fire on my skin, and the scent of it brought tears streaming down my face.

"What are you doing to her?" Kili asked, enraged.

"Stopping the bleeding, for the moment," Oin explained. "Until we can figure out what kind of poison was on that blade."

"Poison?" Fili and Kili spoke together.

"He's gone!" Thorin cried, some distance away. "And good riddance. He's been homesick ever since we started this quest, and nothing but a nuisance since we left Rivendell. Did I not tell you he would abandon us for the safety of his home? He has left us, as I knew he would."

"I haven't, actually," Came Bilbo's reserved tone from farther back in the trees. "Goodness knows I miss my armchair and my books, of course."

I shared the joy of many of the Dwarves at his return, though Thorin looked positively livid with anger. I couldn't quite hear the rest of Bilbo's words—the only thing I did notice was that it was getting dark very quickly. The world before me faded, words jumbling together. The members of the company were before me one minute, and then were swallowed by darkness the next.

"Into the trees!" I heard Gandalf shout about barks and howls that chilled my bones. "Climb the trees!"

The next thing I remember was fire—burning pinecones were thrown down onto the Orcs and Wargs below us, setting the night ablaze. The trunk of our tree snapped, and we were hanging over the drop beyond the cliffs. I grasped at air, tumbling from the branches and down into the mist, the fading scream of my name as it left Fili's mouth the only sound I heard. I landed hard on feathers and bone—one of the great Eagles, I realized with a stab of wakefulness. Gandalf must have called them to our aid, but how? When? I draped my arms over the great bird, hanging on to the scruff of his massive neck. Above him, at least ten more swooped down to rescue our fighting company. Gwahir, the Wind-Lord himself, gave a great screech, and I lost consciousness soon after. I could not have known the heroics that took place on the clifftop, nor was I aware of the fate of any of my friends. All I saw behind my eyes was a vast stretch of white sand, the shores lapped by an endless ocean.


	6. Five--Forgiveness

_ The white sand was soft beneath my feet, which were bare. I thought that was very strange. Hadn't I been wearing boots? Where was Ringil? For that matter, where was any of my clothing? My traveling clothes had been replaced by a simple white slip that draped over me in such a way that my shoulders were bare. The hem of the skirt only went to my knees, and my hair was free of its braid. My body was surrounded by a strange sense of weightlessness—I could not feel my limbs, nor was I aware of any sense of time. The entire world seemed stopped in its tracks._

"_You do not belong in this place, Nimuwyn."_

_I turned. Standing behind me was a man of immeasurable height, dressed in leather and furs. He wore a necklace of teeth, and a satchel overflowing with herbs hung at his waist. His face was as scarred as his shoulders were broad, and yet for all this, he wore a gentle smile on his mouth. I should have been intimidated, but I held no fear of this strange man._

"_Who are you?" I asked him._

"_I am called Beorn. The healer's path has brought me many places in life; and now, it leads me here, at the request of Gandalf the Grey. You have fallen victim to a potent poison, Nimuwyn. It keeps wounds open, tainting the blood so that it continues to flow, until the victim is drained beyond saving. You and your company have friends in high places—if Gwahir and his flock had not brought you to me, you would have been past help."_

"_Thank you," I said to him. "But…how do I return?"_

_He smiled wider. "You need only take my hand, child of the Dunedain."_

_He extended his arm, one massive hand open and facing the sky. After a last look at the sea, I reached out and took it in my own._

My eyes opened. I was lying in a bed of furs and soft cloth. An iron stove burned hot in one corner of the room. Two enormous wolfhounds slept in front of it, their breathing slow and deep. I stood up, rubbing my eyes. I wore the slip from my strange hallucination, though now my body was covered in grime and blood. My hands were bandaged with thick white cloth, banded so heavily over my hands that it looked like I was wearing gloves. I walked through an archway into the adjoining room. A fire was burning in a hearth that took up almost the entire wall. On benches, cots, and mats slept the Dwarves, wrapped in more furs and as content as the hounds. All were asleep, save one. Thorin was not among their number. A noise behind me caught my attention. I walked through my room and out into another; a large space with a dining table and chairs, though it, too, was empty. The door to the house was open—Gandalf sat on a stone wall, smoking a pipe.

"Ah, you're awake," He muttered. "Beorn has wandered into the woods, as he often does at night."

He inhaled, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "You should wash—there is a cave not far from here, just down that path. You will find a spring there."

I nodded thanks, but thought to myself as I walked away from him. Wizards were indeed very strange beings.

The worn dirt path was hardly visible as it wound through the oak forest, but soon enough I found the cave Gandalf had mentioned. It was deep; with many chambers and pools of water so clear I would have thought them made of glass. Wide holes had formed in the ceiling, letting in the starlight. Around the first corner, waterfalls fell parallel to each other, the water at the base wide enough in diameter to fit the entire company, and then some. Steam rose from the surface, and I realized something upon further inspection. One waterfall was cold, flowing down from high in the mountains. The other, to my great delight, was hot, though how it was so I had no idea. I was sure of one thing and one thing only. Warm water had eluded me for far too long, and I planned to take full advantage of my new discovery. Firstly, I removed my bandages. What remained were angry scars, which I was sure to bear for the rest of my days. I shook my head in disapproval, but what could I do? Scars were better than dying from Goblin poison. I sat on the ledge of the pool, submerging my feet in the turquoise depths. The water against my skin was divine, and I found my eyes closing as weeks of dust and travel washed away. I was about to remove my slip and wash, when I heard footsteps at the mouth of the cave.

Thorin wandered into view moments later, a gash across his chest. He looked at me, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and relief to see me well.

"I didn't know," He said quietly, turning to leave.

"Thorin," I said, my arm moving out as if to catch him. "Please."

He tensed his shoulders, but walked forward to me without a word. I took the edge of his tunic in one hand, moving it to get a better look at the wound.

"What happened?"

"I sought solitude in the woods," He said with a shrug that ended in a wince of pain. "I found a bear instead."

"A bear? Valar's blood, Thorin, you could have at least taken a weapon with you."

"Leave it," He said, his mouth forming a frown. "I can tend my wounds, woman."

My eyes narrowed, but I ignored his comment. "This will need to come off."

He arched a dark brow, but held his arms slack at his sides. Gingerly, I removed the shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a soft rustle. My breath left me in a sigh of relief. There was a good deal of blood, but the cut itself was shallow. The muscles in his upper body were strong and well-maintained; if they hadn't been, the wound would have been far worse. I reached behind him and picked up the piece of clothing, examining it.

"How attached are you to this tunic?" I asked him.

"Red was never a favorite color of mine."

I nodded, and ripped the shirt clean in half with a strong tug. He seemed a bit alarmed, but he only watched in silence as I dipped the rag into the water. When I brought it to his wound, breath came into his lungs with a sharp hiss. His shoulders tensed again, and I could see the muscles in his chest and arms recoiling from the pain. It did not take me long to clean, however, and soon I was finished.

I used the other half of the shirt to wrap around his wound, tying a knot to secure it.

"Beorn will have to see to that," I said quietly. "But it should hold, for a while at least."

"Thank you."

I nodded. "Of course."

His eyes searched mine for a long moment before he spoke again. "Forgive me, Nimuwyn."

"For what offense?"

"My words in Rivendell were...ill-mannered. The anger was not meant for you. I am sorry to have caused you pain."

A slight smile found its way to my mouth. I reached up and lightly touched the marks on his face, nearly faded now.

"You bear more visible scars than I."

He seemed to struggle, then, at a war within his mind. His mouth moved, but no words escaped. Finally, he came to a decision.

"I will leave you to your task," He said, speaking like a king does to a subject.

I nodded, and he walked around the corner, disappearing from view within moments. I turned back to the hot spring, and when I could no longer hear him, I removed my slip and dove into the water. The pool extended into a tunnel that stretched behind the falls. I returned to the surface here, taking a deep breath, and then I washed. Under the water, I scrubbed the blood and dirt and grime from my skin and my hair, until the tunnel was dark with it. I tread water for a time, watching the current wash the filth away until it ran clear once more.

When I resurfaced on the other side of the falls, Thorin had seated himself on the ledge of the pool. His boots sat empty next to my slip. I said nothing as I moved to a submerged slab of stone, folding my legs beneath me and feeling extremely vulnerable even though the water was up past my chest. He did not speak a word as he slipped into the water, his head of dark hair disappearing beneath the surface in seconds. When he reemerged, I felt him brace his feet onto the stone I now occupied. He leaned forward and kissed me, full on the mouth, after only a moment of hesitation. It was light at first, his lips barely pressed against mine. I reached out beneath the water and touched my hands to his chest, and our kiss evolved into something else. An unspoken hunger took hold, and he left a trail of fire as he moved from my mouth to my neck, and then to my shoulders. He bit the skin there with short bursts of aggression, sometimes even emitting a low growl or moans between long, slow kisses. My eyes fluttered shut as heat spread through my entire body, yet still not a single word was spoken between us. He pressed his body against mine, putting his hands on either side of my face. Our foreheads touched; our breathing was heavy as it echoed off the walls.

"I did not think to feel joy again," He said in my ear.

"Why would you have a fear of such a thing?"

His thumbs traced small circles where they rested on my temples. "There has been so much darkness, Nimuwyn; so much loss in these long years. I carry the weight of all my people with me."

I kissed him deeply, then, as if I were trying to give him some of my own happiness.

"There is always hope, Thorin."

No more needed to be said.


End file.
